19th Century Literature: Worse than Alcohol
by Thomas the Miller
Summary: Todd Anderson only reacts violently to two things. Number one, literature, and number two, remembering Neil. What happens when the two collide? This is a Todd-centered one-shot rated T for language and a lot of angst.


**Disclaimer: No, I don't own. But can I have Todd? Pretty please? **

**AN: Upon realizing the striking similarities between Edna's story in Kate Chopin's _The Awakening, _and Neil's story in Dead Poets Society, I had to write this little one-shot. I think Todd is a wonderfully strong character, and he's my favorite of the Dead Poets, so I feel a little bad about writing Todd angst. But I think in the situation, it's somewhat fitting. And, in my strong opinion, Todd goes on to study English in college, so it's plausible that he could have read _The Awakening._ Reading and reviewing would be super appreciated! I know the story alludes to 19th Century lit, but I'd love it if you read it, even if you've never read _The Awakening._ (Honestly, I don't care for the book much. I just had to read it for class a year ago, and now it somehow spawned this fic.) I think most inferences could be made, but for a few points of clarification, the main character is Edna. Robert is one of her two affairs. He leaves at the novel's end, but she really does love him. Mademoiselle Reisz is an elderly pianist who inspires Edna to live freely. Anyhow...here it is...****  
**

19th Century Literature: Worse than Alcohol

"I love you. Good-bye. Because I love you."

Upon reading that sentence, Todd Anderson slammed his copy of Kate Chopin's _The Awakening _shut and glared down at it. Only literature ever made him react this violently. Well, literature and remembering Neil.

_How could Robert just leave Edna like that? _But Todd knew why. Edna Pontellier, as free as she wanted to be, was a married woman with children. Robert was far too noble a character to soil her reputation. He loved her too much.

Todd sighed and reopened his book. As frustrated as he was, there were only a few pages left. His American Realism class would be discussing the ending in the morning, and more importantly, it was against his principles to leave a decent book unfinished. So, he kept reading.

He shouldn't have. He shouldn't have at all. Edna was walking to the beach, thinking that nothing mattered, not even her children, not even Robert. Edna was…was… taking off her clothes and walking into the water?

"Oh God." Todd said the words aloud and shut the book again. This time it was not out of anger. He was hyperventilating. He could barely breathe. He knew exactly where this was going, and he was not picturing Edna Pontellier any more, but another person entirely. Still, he had literary principles. He would finish the book.

"She went on and on… Her arms and legs were growing tired…"

Todd emitted a sharp cry of anguish. All he could think was _Neil, get the fuck out of the water. Now. _But it was too late for that, wasn't it? He read a few more lines….

"How Mademoiselle Reisz would have laughed, perhaps sneered if she knew. 'And you call yourself an artist! What pretensions, Madame! The artist must possess the courageous soul that dares and defies!"

Neil. Neil and the flying desk set. Neil with the god of the cave. Neil reading Tennyson and telling horror stories. Neil and Shakespeare. Neil acting. Neil happy. _Neil, _thought Todd. _I always thought you were the brave one, the artist…why couldn't you dare to defy your father? _

Todd was a wreck. His hands were shaking. His tears splattered onto the page in front of him. He clenched the book in his hand and shut it. A few sentences still remained, but he wasn't going to read them. _Screw principles, I fucking know what happens, and it doesn't change a fucking thing._

He tried to inhale, but instead felt a burning sensation in his throat, a sensation he hadn't felt since he heard Charlie speak the words, "Todd, Neil's dead." He was going to be sick.

He rushed out into the hallway, with _The Awakening _still clenched in his fist. He had to get the restroom. Had to get…..

Bam! He ran into a wall and he felt dizzy and disoriented and sick and he just couldn't take it. He retched. Then, feeling physically relieved, he looked up, praying that no one had seen that. From what he could tell, no one was in the hallway.

Then a girl walked out of a room across the hall. She looked at Todd, then looked at the vomit on the floor and grimaced in distaste. "It's eight o clock on a weeknight," she said, "and you're completely wasted. Disgusting."

Todd emitted a harsh laugh. Oh, yes. In normal society, vomiting in the hallway is only something you do when you're drunk. A wry smile appeared on his face. "19th Century Literature," he said, holding up _The Awakening. _"It's much worse than alcohol."

The girl was flabbergasted, and Todd looked at her, almost expecting her to say something. She didn't, though, and he turned to walk back to his room.

He closed his door behind him and breathed a sigh of both frustration and relief. "Well, Neil," he said aloud. "I hope you're happy. You're feeding my rebellious streak again. I haven't skipped a class this semester, but I sure as hell will not be in American Realism tomorrow."


End file.
